


Memories like fingerprints

by rottnrotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, HP: EWE, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Memories, Nightmares, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottnrotty/pseuds/rottnrotty
Summary: Remember the worst thing you did during the war.I did a lot of shit things during the war.  But the truth is, I did a lot of shit things before the war, too. Maybe the worst thing I've done didn't even happen during to war.  And what does that make me?





	Memories like fingerprints

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, there are rape/non-con elements to this story, but they are not between Draco and Harry.
> 
> Some instances of rape/non-con take place when the character is underage. It is not explicitly discussed, but referenced only.

"Remember the worst thing you did during the war."

 _Remember the worst thing you did during the war...the worst thing you did...the worst thing._ The words swirl through my brain, dredging up a myriad of horrors I'd rather not confront.  At the front of the room, a man drones on. I can see his lips moving, but the words are not reaching me.  I'm too caught up in my own personal hell.   _...the worst thing you did._

 _"_ Ok, last exercise.  Now I want you to remember the worst thing that happened to you during the war."

 _No no no nonononono!_ Panic is welling up inside of me.  My ears fill with a horrible buzzing sound.  I WILL NOT break down.  Not here.  Not now.  My hands curl into fists so tightly that the nails are digging into my palms, and a warm trickle of blood seeps down my wrists.  The pain clears my head somewhat, and I am able to focus, or at least make a good show of it.  The man at the front is assuring us that we've all suffered, we all have bad memories, we all need to come to terms with things and heal.  Bollocks.  That codgery old git has no fucking idea.

"Please work on confronting those two memories.  Next time, we will work through them as a group."  Right.  Because that sounds like a brilliant plan.

McGonagall is up front now, shaking the man's hand.  "Thank you, Healer Noseby.  A great first session, as I'm sure the students would all agree."  As she sweeps her hand around the classroom, I follow the movement.  Merlin, what a bunch of complete pansies!  Almost everyone in the room is either crying, or hugging, or both.  "We look forward to seeing you in a fortnight."

I hang back as the rest of the eighth years pack up to leave.  Coming back to Hogwarts may have been the biggest mistake I have ever made.  Ok, that may be a little over-dramatic.  But it's definitely in the top twenty.  I am the only Slytherin who has bothered to return.  It's all happy Hufflepuffs and witty Ravenclaws and brash Gryffindors.  Nauseating.

Oh, did I mention the eighth years have their own dorm?  Not that I would be welcome in the Slytherin rooms anyway.  Seems like the name Malfoy is pretty worthless nowadays.  Which is precisely why I need to study my arse off this year, and get as many O's on my N.E.W.T.s as possible.

Luckily (I hope you are sensing my sarcasm), all the eighth year students have bi-weekly lecture sessions with Healer Noseby, a mind Healer who specializes in recovery from traumatic events.  He's going to help us overcome our differences, get past our fears, and blah blah blah.  Basically a bunch of Hufflepuff touchy-feely nonsense.  This was our first meeting, and I'm already seriously underwhelmed.

I'm the only one left in the classroom; even McGonagall and Noseby have left.  Time to slip out and hope the rest of the students have dispersed.  Hogwarts has only been in session for five days, and I've already been to see Madam Pomfrey twice for hexes I was unable to reverse myself.  The number of spit balls, rotten food, and joke bombs from the Weasel's store that I've been hit with are too numerous to keep track of.

As soon as I enter the hallway, I see a large knot of eighth years further down the hall.  They seem to be arguing.  Unfortunately, there is only one way out, and that's straight past them.  One thing is for sure, I won't go slinking by like some shamed little bint.  I straighten myself up, cock my chin, and pull out my best sneer before stalking down the hall.

It's all for nothing.  Before I even make it to the group of students, a few look up, and a terrifying growl rips out of someone.  It all happens so fast, I have no time to defend myself.  A body launches directly at me, and I fall to the floor, the wind knocked out of me.  I try to gasp in some air, but the body on top of me is straddling my chest, and breathing becomes extremely difficult.  Punches are being thrown at my face.  Someone is holding my arms down, and someone else grabs my legs.  I hear chuckling, but it almost seems to be coming from the distance.  My vision seems off, too.  Things are getting black and hazy, and it's become harder to keep my eyes open.  Maybe I should just take a nap.

"Oi, get off him!"  The crushing weight on my chest abates, and I gulp in deep breaths of air.  Rough hands grip in my armpits, dragging me to my feet.  "What in the name of Merlin's saggy sack are you doing?  You could have killed him."

"No more than he deserves."  And he is right.  It's not like I haven't thought it myself.

"Bugger off."  Oh shit.  I recognize that voice.  It belongs to the last person on earth I want coming to my rescue.

"Come on, Harry, he's not worth it."  Yup, that confirms it.  Harry sodding Potter, hero of the wizarding world, just saw me get pummelled.  I didn't even get one punch in!

"I disagree," Potter replies in an icy tone.  If I wasn't so mortified I would probably smirk.  As it is, it takes all my concentration to remain upright, even with Harry's firm grip.

Footsteps shuffle off down the hall, and I'm left alone with Potter.  He's silent, but I can feel his eyes blazing into me.  What does he want?  A thank you?  Not bloody likely.

"Episky," Potter mutters.  I should have been paying better attention.  Instead, I let Potter get the upper hand, and point his wand at me.  Yes, he did only cast a healing charm. But one never knows, especially with our history.

I will not let Potter see how unnerved I am by the beating I just took.  "Well, Potter, there's another exciting entry for your diary.  Scurry along now."  I finally manage to lift my head and meet his eyes.  I do my best to exude haughty contempt.  I'm not sure Potter is buying it.

"Malfoy," Potter says gently, and moves a hand from my armpit.  It stretches out towards my chest, like Potter plans to place his hand right over my heart.  At the last minute, he lets his arm fall to his side.  "What the fuck just happened?  Why did Terry Boot attack you like that?"

I'm too battered and bruised to come up with a decent lie, so the truth will have to do.  "Oh, probably because we were shagging for a while in fifth year.  Before Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad and the debacle at the Department of Mysteries."

The look on Harry's face is bloody priceless. He gapes at me for a while, before forming a coherent thought.  "Didn't he hex you into a slug that year?"

I snort in spite of myself.  "True.  We had long since broken up by then.  But I think he may still be holding a bit of a grudge."

And then it happens.  Harry Potter smiles at me.  One of those smiles that lights up your whole face.  And fuck if I don't start smiling back at the git.  But I'm a Malfoy, so I gain control of myself fairly quickly.  "I need to go."  Which is true. Not that I have anywhere I need to be, except away from Potter's smiles and helpfulness.

"Malfoy, you're hurt.  At least go to see Madam Pomfrey."  Potter's pleading is almost enough to make me agree.

"No thanks, I've been there quite enough in the last few days."  Confusion mars Potter's face.  Damn it, I shouldn't have said that!  Hopefully he's too dim-witted to figure it out.  

No such luck.  "This isn't the first time something like this has happened," Potter says with dawning clarity.  "Is it, Malfoy?"

I throw my head loftily.  "It's none of your business," I reply, in my best snooty manner.  Combined with a fierce glare, this would be enough to make any of my old Slytherin friends back off.

Potter, however, is not a Slytherin.  "I'm making it my business."  His voice is firm, and his jaw is set.  He's planning on making me his next project, I can tell.  Well fuck you, Potter, I didn't ask to be saved.

"I'm not your pet, Potter.  Go bug someone who actually wants to spend time with the Chosen One."  Potter deflates a little at this, and it makes my heart twist a bit in my chest.  But Potter and I aren't friends.  We never have been, and we never will be.  I need to remember that.

"Why don't you defend yourself?"

"Don't you read the Prophet, Potter?  I'm on probabtion.  If I step one toe out of line, I'll be expelled from Hogwarts and thrown in Azkaban faster than you can say scarhead."

I can see Potter steeling himself to say something.  It's going to be one of those embarrassing Gryffindor declarations, I can feel it.  He doesn't disappoint.  "Maybe I can help you, Malfoy.  Er, like protect you?  Keep those idiots away from you?"

It's a nice fantasy, that's for sure.  But that's all it is, a fantasy.  "Even if I would except your help, which, by the way, is a ludicrous idea, you can't be with me all the time, Potter.  We have different classes, for one.  What's your plan, to be by my side 24/7?  You want to eat meals with me, sleep in my bed, guard me as I shower?"  Merlin, why did I bring up sleeping and showering with me?  My cheeks are already flushing, and Potter's ears are turning an interesting shade of pink.  I bull ahead with a decision I made a split-second ago.  "I'm leaving Hogwarts.  I can't stay here."

"No, Malfoy," Potter says, and extends his hand once more.  This time, it makes contact, as he wraps it around my wrist.  "No. Don't go."

I'm speechless.  Wouldn't my father be proud, his son brought low by a touch from Harry Potter.  Just add it to the long list of ways in which I have turned out to be a huge disappointment to the Malfoy name.  My gaze stays focused on where our bodies join for far too long, before I gather my wits and say, "let's just go back to our Common Room."

Harry seems content with this, and we head out, his hand still encircling my wrist.  I jerk away, and try not to notice the hurt look that crosses his face.  We walk in silence, giving me plenty of time to recall the words from Noseby.   _Remember the worst thing you did during the war._  I did a lot of shit things during the war.  But the truth is, I did a lot of shit things before the war, too.  What would Healer Noseby make of that?  Maybe the worst thing I've done didn't even happen during to war.  And what does that make me?  ... _the worst thing you did_... I'd say the war actually opened my eyes, to the cruelty and the horror behind the words my father had preached when I was growing up.  I didn't want to be like him, or Aunt Bellatrix, or Voldemort.  Spewing vile hatred in my youth was one thing.  Seeing it be carried out, in front of me, in my own home, by a madman, changed my views pretty abruptly.

Too soon, we are back at the eighth year common room.  Harry stops, and like the gentleman he is, motions for me to enter first.  As he comes in behind me, a loud shout is directed at us.  "Harry can't be with you all the time, Malfoy.  And the first time we see you alone, we will finish what we started."

I want to say 'I told you so', but Potter doesn't need to hear it.  He grabs my bicep, and steers me to my room.  "Malfoy, don't let him scare you.  We'll figure this out.  I'll-"

I cut him off with a withering look as I say, "Potter, give it up. You can't save me.  And I'm not asking you too.  Just leave me alone."  He stands there for a long time, watching me as I pack.  His rhythmic breathing helps soothe my frazzled nerves.  I want him to stay, and I want him to go, all at the same time.

"Take care, Malfoy," he says wistfully.  I close my eyes and take a calming breath.  By the time I turn around, he is gone.

* * *

Pathetic.  I am pathetic.

I've only been back in England for a week, and here I am, spying on the Golden Trio and their friends at the Leaky Cauldron.  Like I said, utterly pathetic.

It's a mix of graduating seventh and eighth years, out celebrating.  For better or for worse, the N.E.W.T. examinations have concluded.  At the testing, I overheard these plans being made.  The inner circle meeting up one last time before setting off to live their dreams.

At least the Weasel family is good for something.  With a few minor modifications, I am able to customize a pair of Extendable Ears so that I can listen to the conversation without being noticed.

So far I've overheard the hopes and dreams of almost everyone at the table.  It's times like this when I miss my old Slytherin friends the most.  We would never lower ourselves to discuss our feelings. What the bloody hell is wrong with these people?

Suddenly I hear my name.  "Blimey, is that Draco Malfoy?"  I keep my head down, focusing on the book on the table in front of me.  I had really hoped to avoid being seen.

"Where?"

"Over in the corner."  That's the Chosen One's little ginger pet, the male Weasel.  Of course he would be the one to spot me.

"I thought he left the country."

Someone snorts.  "We should be so lucky."

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"He was at Hogwarts for the N.E.W.T. exams," Potter says in a low voice. 

"What?" the Weasel screeches.  "You never told me that!  How do you know?"

"I saw him.  We were in the same testing group.  Our last names are close in the alphabet, I guess."  Interesting.  I didn't realize Potter had noticed me.  I had seen him at Hogwarts, but we never even made eye contact.  Not that I tried very hard.

"Great.  Well he can return to whatever rock he crawled out under."

"Oh, Draco's not so bad," a dreamy voice sing-songs.  Oh holy fuck, it's Looney Lovegood.  

"Come on, Luna, get a grip.  You were a prisoner in his house!  You can't actually be defending Malfoy."

"Draco was nice to me," Lovegood replies simply.  Nice?  That may be an exaggeration of the facts.  I tried to sneak her some food, when I was able.  I sat outside the cell and talked to her a few times.  I was too scared to do much more.  

I was a coward.  I probably still am.

"He's a wanker," the Weasel says derisively.  He hates me.  All the Weasleys do.  Who can blame them?  I spent my school years baiting the Weasel while degrading and mocking his family.

"He's just a scared, lonely boy," Luna answers.  "Let's invite him to sit with us."

There is a lot of sputtering and stammering.  "No fucking way," someone finally spits out.

I pull out the Extendable Ears and stow them in my pocket. I have heard enough.

"Hello Draco."  Lovegood has snuck up on me.  She's standing next to my chair, leaning right over me.  This girl has no concept of proper social conduct.

"Hello Lo...Luna."  Her answering smile is beautiful.  It's been a long time since I've had someone from school this happy to see me.  

"Hey Malfoy."  I whip my head around.  Potter is standing across the table, his hands gripping the back of the other chair.  Luna pats me gently on the head before skipping away.

"Potter," I acknowledge, nodding my head at him.  My hands are threatening to shake, so I drop them into my lap under the table.  Potter is just standing there, studying me, staying silent.  I finally blurt out, "you should go back to your friends.  They can't be too happy that you are talking to me."  Damn it, that came out a little more needy than I had intended it.

Potter cocks his head and keeps staring.  It's like he's trying to figure out a difficult puzzle.  "Come sit with us.  We are having a few drinks to celebrate surviving the N.E.W.T.s."

"You can't honestly think that's a good idea?" I ask.  Potter has no sense of self preservation.  He just shrugs.  "Your friends hate me, Potter.  They don't want me at their table."

"Luna doesn't hate you."  I roll my eyes at this.  Great, one person out of eight at the table doesn't wish me dead.  "I don't hate you."  I think my heart stops for a split second.

I try to sound firm as I say, "No, Potter," but it comes out more breathless than I would have liked.  Potter has always had this effect on me.  The ability to bring my emotions bubbling to the surface.  I've always cared way too much about his opinion, and seeking his approval.

Still utterly pathetic.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to sit down here."  He drops down into the chair across from me, a determined look on his face.  I respond with a scowl.  I know he thinks he is being kind, but I can guarantee this little display will cause me nothing but problems.  "Where did you go when you left Hogwarts, Malfoy?"

I contemplate not answering.  Just standing up and walking away.  It's not rude if it's self-preservation, right?  In the end, I can't do it.  "I went to France."  Potter cocks his head once more.  It should make him look stupid, but instead, the gesture is endearingly cute.  

He's expecting an explanation.  Against my better judgement, I give him one.  "Mother keeps a flat there.  I had a private tutor help prepare me for the N.E.W.T.s."

Potter nods.  He is twisting a napkin in his hands.  Is it possible that he is just as nervous and off-balance as I am?  "I was hoping to hear from you, after you left.  I thought maybe you'd owl me, let me know that you were ok, and what you were up to."

"Why?" I ask cuttingly, before I can stop myself.  Potter flinches.  It's very slight, but I notice it.  "I mean, why do you care?  We've been enemies since we were eleven."  Maybe I shouldn't be pointing that out to Potter, reminding him of our rocky past.  But I need to know.

"I don't know," he says slowly.  "I guess...I mean, I think it's just time we all grew up, ya know?  Stop holding old grudges and all."  He drags his eyes away from his mutilated napkin, and meets my gaze.  "Do you ever think that things could have turned out differently?"

I'm not sure exactly what Potter means, but I know my own path was set from infancy.  You don't have a father like Lucius Malfoy and grow up to be a muggle-lover.  I was a git in school.  A weak, cowardly git.  I hid behind people who could defend me, and I used my money and charm to get what I wanted.  It's just the way I was raised.

I'm working on being a different person.  A better person.  Someone I can stand to look at in the mirror.

"No, I don't, Potter.  I'm pretty sure we were destined to be enemies."

"But we don't have to be, anymore.  The war's over now."  Those green eyes bore into me, burning into my very soul.  My breath catches in my throat.  I'm totally unprepared for all of this.

I scoff.  "Are you suggesting we be...friends?" I say in the most disdainful voice I can muster.  

Potter gives me a crooked half smile, causing my pulse to speed up.  "Woah, calm down Malfoy," he replies cheekily.  "You are moving awfully fast."

Shit, I can feel a warm blush flooding my neck and spreading up my face, turning my cheeks bright pink.  Suddenly Potter has made this feel like a date.

"I...uh," I say eloquently, and Potter's smile widens.

"Draco Malfoy at a loss for words.  I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Don't get used to it," I snark back quickly.  

"I wouldn't dream of it," Potter answers.  His smile turns into a contemplative look as he says, "look, I better go.  But don't be a stranger, yah?"

"Yah," I echo back, as I watch him push back his chair and walk over to rejoin his friends.  The Weasel is glaring daggers at me.  It is most definitely time to call it a night.

* * *

I wake up drenched in sweat, clutching the sheets in my fists and biting hard on my lower lip.  My throat is sore; I've most likely been screaming in my sleep.

I received a letter by owl from Potter three days ago, and I've been having nightmares ever since. 

For some reason, Healer Noseby's words from the only mind-healing session I attended are haunting my thoughts.  Naturally, I am blaming Potter.  During the day, I think _remember the worst thing you did during the war._ At night, I dream about it.

If you've never tortured anyone, you can have no idea how it feels.  Also, I envy you.  No matter how fun the other Death Eaters made it seem, I'm here to tell you, that is a lie.  There is no enjoyment to be had from inflicting pain and suffering on an innocent person.

But I still did it.  To keep my family safe.  And to save my own skin.  I threw up every time afterwards, but I did it, when Voldemort commanded me to.  I'd be dead otherwise.

Maybe someone noble like Potter would choose death.  He most likely would.  Potter would probably die before he tortured someone who didn't deserve it.  I bet he can sleep at night. Lucky bastard.

His note is short, yet personal, and funny all at the same time.

 

_Malfoy,_

_You must be the most stubborn git I have ever met.  Did you ever plan on contacting me?  I am guessing not._

_How have things been with you?  Did you do well on your N.E.W.T.s?  I got enough to start Auror training, like I had planned.  Trouble is, now that I'm able to do it, I'm not sure it's what I want._

_Don't be an utter fuckwit, write me back, ok?_

_HP_

 

Refusing to reply would just be bad manners, and I was brought up better than that.  Although I'm not sure corresponding with Harry Potter is what my parents had in mind when instilling that particular lesson.

I had been waiting for a picture to be developed before sending my reply.  In it, I'm rolling my eyes.  Hopefully my photo self will think of other unique ways to show Potter how ridiculous I think he is acting.

 

_Potter,_

_Calm down.  Your letter came only two weeks since we last spoke at the Leaky Cauldron.  Now who is moving too fast?_

_I am doing quite well, thank you for inquiring.  I have sent photographic evidence to support this claim.  I'm sure you will enjoy watching my picture likeness mock you and your tender Hufflepuff sensibilities.  Honestly, Potter, who asks someone 'how have things been with you?'_

_I received O's on all the N.E.W.T.s I tried for. Was there ever any doubt?  I am quite brilliant, you know.  Like you, I'm still undecided on what to do next.  I'm sure my last name will greatly limit my options._

_DM_

 

Much to my dismay, I start looking forward to Potter's little notes.  Like clockwork, his replies come the day after I send him a letter.  It's become the hi-light of my day.

 

_Malfoy,_

_Sometimes I forget how smart you are.  For me, your 'brilliance' in school was overshadowed by what a huge sodding nightmare you were.  Don't deny it, you know it's true._

_I can't believe you would accuse me of being a Hufflepuff!  I'm hurt Malfoy.  And anyway, you got it totally wrong.  If anything, I'm secretly a Slytherin.  At least, the Sorting hat thought I'd do well there.  Can you imagine?  Our quidditch team would have kicked some serious arse._

_My house elf stole your picture.  I think he has a little bit of a crush on you.  He's a pretty good cook, so you could do a lot worse, ha ha.  I inherited the old Black residence, in case you hadn't heard.  The elf who came with the house thinks very highly of your mother, and you.  You should come visit some time._

_HP_

 

_Potter,_

_In the interest of keeping things civil, I'm going to ignore the fact that you called me a nightmare, and concentrate on you recognizing how smart I am.  I was second in our year, you know, right behind Granger.  I never figured out how Father got our rankings. We both received all O's on our O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, but somehow, he was able to find out that her actual percentage scores were higher than mine.  Imagine how impressed he was every time he learned I was getting bested by a muggle-born._

_I'm very sorry to inform you, Potter, that you would have made an abysmal Slytherin.  You are a Gryffindor, through and through.  I don't even mean that as an insult.  Besides, if you had been in Slytherin, which one of us would have gotten to play seeker?  We probably still would have been at each other's throats._

_Do you think you could steal my picture back from your elf?  Or just order him to give it to you?  The thought of your house elf wanking to my picture gives me the willies._

_DM_

 

_Malfoy,_

_Second in our year, huh?  That's quite an accomplishment.  Your dad should have been proud.  I'm sorry he wasn't._

_For your information, I would have made an outstanding Slytherin.  And I would have been seeker, obviously.  Come on, Malfoy, we both know I'm the better flyer.  Unless you care to challenge that statement, and have a friendly game with me sometime?_

_Don't think I didn't notice how you avoided my invite to come over.  At the very least, it would make Kreacher happy.  He's my house elf.  And he's wallowing in self-pity right now, ever since I demanded your photo back.  Your picture has stopped rolling his eyes; in fact, he mostly keeps them covered with his hands.  You may have been right about the wanking.  I think photo Malfoy has seen terrible things._

_HP_

 

_Potter,_

_You total Hufflepuff!  Why would you apologize for my father?  See, you would have been eaten alive in Slytherin._

_I was joking when I mentioned your house elf using my picture for his wanking fantasies.  Now that you have confirmed it, I am deeply disturbed. Please keep my photo safe.  Even I don't deserve that._

_I am not utterly opposed to meeting up with you, Potter.  Just not at your house.  Or my house.  Somewhere public would be best.  Your idea of playing quidditch is a good one._

_DM_

_P.S. You mentioned your house elf's name is Kreacher.  I was wondering, do you know how Dobby is doing?_

 

Potter's reply takes over a week this time, and it is extremely short and terse.

 

_Malfoy,_

_Dobby is dead.  Your Aunt Bellatrix killed him by throwing a knife in his back.  He died a hero, helping us escape from Malfoy Manor._

_HP_

 

Oh sweet Merlin.  I had no idea Dobby was dead.  It's clear from the tone of Potter's letter that he is upset.  He most likely thinks I knew about the elf's fate, and was rubbing it in.

The truth is, Dobby was my first friend.  Back when he was the Malfoy Manor house elf, and I was just a little boy, we spent a lot of time together.  Dobby taught me how to count to ten, and to tie my shoes without magic.  Dobby used to run my bath.  Dobby was the one who helped me hide broken heirlooms, and took the blame when needed.

Dobby listened to my obsessive ramblings about Harry Potter after my first year at Hogwarts.

It killed me, how poorly my Father treated Dobby.  When Potter freed Dobby, Father was upset to lose a slave.  I was devastated to lose a childhood friend and confidant.  But he was so happy, so I tried to be happy for him.

Before I lose my nerve, I send my owl back to Potter with a note.

 

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry for your loss.  I didn't know._

_Draco_

 

I don't expect a reply, and I don't get one.  It doesn't stop me from hoping and waiting though.

* * *

The memories are returning at at alarming rate now.  I start brewing and taking the Potion for Dreamless Sleep, to escape the nightmares.  That's when my horrible deeds decide to invade my waking hours.

It's not just the horrors of the war I am reliving.  It's my misdeeds from Hogwarts as well.  There I am, dressed up as a Dementor to terrorize Potter.  Shouting Mudblood at Granger outside the Chamber of Secrets.  Making and distributing 'Potter Stinks' buttons.  Composing 'Weasley is our King.'

I was a bully.

I finally figured it out, when the Dark Lord took over the Manor.  He used fear, intimidation, humiliation, mockery, jealousy, and greed to get his way.  He was the ultimate bully.  His followers didn't like him; they feared him.  I loathed him.  And I was just like him.

How do you atone for the sins of your past?  Fucked if I know. I think the best thing I can do is stay holed up in my flat, away from the public.

After about a month of this, Potter's next owl arrives.

My body is at war with itself.  My hands are scrambling to rip the envelope open as quickly as possible, while my brain screams at me to stop.  If this letter is just a bunch of shite about how awful I am, I just don't think I can handle reading it right now.

I open it anyway.

 

_Malfoy,_

_I miss your letters.  It's like I've lost a good friend.  Silly, I know.  We have never been friends.  Still, I looked forward to our correspondence.  I do realize I stopped writing to you.  I just needed time._

_It's my fault that Dobby is dead.  I summoned him to Malfoy Manor.  I knew he'd do anything for me.  And your family treated him so poorly, it was like a slap in the face when you asked about him.  Why did you do that?_

_HP_

 

My hands are shaking so hard, I can hardly read Potter's writing.  I read the note through once, twice, three times, until I have it memorized.  Potter missed me.  He is willing to listen to my explanation.

 

_Potter,_

_I was sincerely sorry to hear about Dobby's passing.  I hope you realize that._

_Dobby was my first friend, Potter.  He was kind to me.  Growing up as an only child at Malfoy Manor could get very lonely.  Dobby helped ease that._

_Dobby wouldn't want you to blame yourself for his death._

_DM_

 

_Malfoy,_

_I am in a bit of a state of shock.  You were friends with a house elf?  Is it possible that you are a decent human being after all?_

_A group of us are having a get together tonight.  I'd like it if you came.  Luna will be there.  Ron and Hermione too, and they have both promised to give you a chance.  Well, Ron promised not to hex you as soon as you walk in the door.  Under the circumstances, I think that's all we can ask for._

_My owl has been instructed to wait for your reply.  If you do decided to come, and I hope you do, I will send you the details._

_HP_

 

Before I can second-guess myself, I send Potter's owl back confirming I will attend.  Within the hour, I receive his reply.  They have rented out the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade for the night.  The festivities start at eight pm.

What do you wear to a party hosted by your arch-nemesis?   I finally settle on a pair of soft grey trousers, and a button-up navy dress shirt.  Potter will probably be kitted out in muggle denims and an ill-fitting t-shirt, but I do have some standards to uphold.  And I favour long-sleeved shirts, which keep my arms covered.

I apparate into Hogsmeade at 8:30.  Slytherins are never early.  I believe we coined the phrase 'fashionably late.'

I can hear the music before I even walk into the Hog's Head.  Suddenly I am extremely nervous.  What if the pub is packed full of people that hate me?  It's not like I can cling to Potter and Lovegood for the whole night.  I almost apparate straight back home, but a little voice inside of me urges, ' _stop being a coward, Draco.'_ I don't want to be a coward anymore, so I take a steadying breath, and walk inside.

I spot Pottter right away.  He's on the far end of the pub, sorting out some kind of food-related emergency at a table of crisps and biscuits.  His head snaps up the moment I walk in, and he sends me a quick wave, mouthing 'go get a drink, I'll be right there.'  I move towards the bar to do that, when I feel a firm grip on my shoulder.

"Well, well, well.  Look who decided to show his pointy little face in polite company," Terry Boot whispers into my ear.  His voice is dripping with venom.  "I think it's time that you and I had a private conversation."  He steers me towards the back of the pub, and I let him.  Maybe I do owe him this.

At first, it seems like we are heading towards the loos, but Terry turns at the last moment and shoves me into a storage closet.  It brings back memories, of stolen time together at Hogwarts.

It doesn't slip my mind that the last time I saw Terry, he beat the stuffing out of me.  "What can I do for you, Boot?" I ask, working hard to keep my voice from quivering.  I lean back against the wall, the perfect picture of nonchalance.  

"Oh, I can think of a few things.  You can give up your pretty little arse, for one."  He stalks towards me in a predatory manor, and I mean to fight back, I really do.  It's just that in that moment, Terry is replaced by my memories of other people who have demanded the same thing from me.  People who were promised a reward from the Dark Lord.  I knew better than to resist when Lord Voldemort was giving the orders.

I am spun around roughly, and pushed face-first into the wall. Strong hands grasp at the waist of my trousers.  "Take off your shirt," a deep voice demands, and I struggle to obey.  My fingers shake as I work the buttons as fast as I can.  I have to be good, and do this well, to keep Mother safe.

Probing fingers undo my belt, and make quick work of the button and zip on my trousers.  Both my trousers and pants are pulled brutally down to my knees, leaving my cock and arse exposed.  I try to remain silent and stoic, but a little whimper escapes.  All I can picture is dirty fingernails biting into my skin.  An arm tattooed with the Dark Mark wrapping around my throat.  The smell of unwashed bodies and terror and spunk.

"You were my first, you know."  It's whispered almost lovingly into my ear.  But that's not right.  That's not how this usually goes.  For a moment, I am dragged out of my memories, and back into the closet at the Hog's Head.  Right, Terry Boot.  He was my first, too.  Well, my first boy, anyways.  It was sweet, at first.  Secret notes and clandestine meetings.  Snatched bits of time sharing kisses and touches and more.  Until it all came crashing down spectacularly, and we became enemies.

"Please, Terry.  Please, don't do this."  Malfoys don't beg, but I'm willing to do so now.

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy!" he screams into my ear.  "You want this, you fucking slut.  You are just a poncey little faggot, aren't you?"  And just like that, it's not Terry anymore.  It's some unnamed Death Eater, getting ready to tear me apart.  I give in, like I always do.  I want this over with as quickly as possible.

Then a bunch of things happen at once. Light floods the closet, almost blinding my eyes, and I close them in response.  The heavy weight at my back is ripped away, and yelling fills my ears.  A door slams shut.  I wait, thighs trembling, arse stuck out, back arched and ready.

I know someone is behind me.  I can hear their breathing.  Just get on with it already!

I might have said that last bit out loud.  I take a ragged breath when I hear a gasp behind me.  "Malfoy?"  Potter asks tentatively.  "Are you alright?"

I straighten up, and rest my head on the wall in front of me.  For fuck's sake, I nearly let Terry Boot rape me in a closet.  Does it look like I'm alright?  I can't even muster the energy to pull up my trousers.  I hear a shuffling step behind me, and panic wells up.  "Don't touch me," I screech.  "Don't you fucking touch me."

"It's ok, Draco.  It's going to be ok."  It's hearing my given name from Potter's mouth that does me in.  I start crying; big, ugly, body wrenching sobs.  Potter waits quietly.  Once I finish, I feel my pants and trousers being pulled up my legs, covering my arse.  He tries to fasten my zip and button by wrapping his hands around my waist, but in the dim light of the closet, he is having trouble.  "Turn around," he says, and I flinch at the order.  "Please," he adds.  This time I listen, and turn so I am facing Potter.

His eyes are cast down, and he quickly does up my trousers and belt. He then hands me a handkerchief before moving his hands up to work on re-buttoning my shirt.  I use it to wipe the tears and sweat and snot and saliva off of my face and neck.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't know he was going to show up.  I hope you believe me."  And I do.  Of course I do.  Harry Potter would never willingly allow something like this to happen, even to his worst enemy.

"I know," I croak.  The closet is becoming extremely hot and stifling.  Potter seems to realize this, and he casts an Undetectable Extension charm to give us more room.  Two chairs also pop up, and I sink into one gratefully.

I don't know what to say.  Thank you?  I'm sorry?  Blimey, I wish this magical chair would swallow me up.  Potter eventually breaks the silence.  "Were you just going to let him... let him....er..."

"It wasn't him," I try to explain.  Potter looks confused. Of course he is.  He doesn't know.   _Remember the worst thing that happened to you during the war._ "It wasn't Terry.  I mean, it was Terry, but in my mind, it wasn't him."

Potter's eyes grow wide in shock.  "Someone else has done this to you?  Against your will?" All I can do is nod.  "Oh, Malfoy," Potter whispers brokenly.  My chair is magically stretched into a sofa, and Potter is flopping down next to me, slinging an arm around my back and pushing my head onto his shoulder.  It feels...strange.  It's been a long time since I've had any comforting physical contact.  I remain stiff for a minute, before deciding to trust Potter, and sinking into his embrace.  "What happened?"

I can't do this.  I can't relive it, I just can't.   _Remember the worst thing that happened to you during the war._   Well, I remember.  And I don't think I'll ever be able to forget again.  "The Dark Lord happened," I say in a clipped tone.  That should be all the explanation Potter needs.

I'm wrong.  "He...raped you?" Potter says, sounding utterly horrified.

I close my eyes against the memories, but they dance through my mind anyway.  "No, not him.  But his followers, with his blessing."

"Oh," Potter says again.  And really, what else is there to say?  I do notice that his grip tightens around my shoulders, and he rests his cheek against the top of my head.  We stay like that for a long time.  Long enough for my heart rate to return to normal, and my breathing to even out.  "Can I help you get home?"

"I'll be fine, Potter.  You go enjoy your party."  

He looks at me like I have two heads.  "Crikey Malfoy, I think I'm a little past that.  I insist on seeing you get home safely."

Bloody fucking Gryffindors.  "Yah, fine," I relent.  Only because I know Potter will come whether I agree or not.  We stand up, and he grabs my hand and squeezes, hard.

As we exit the closet, a bright flash blinds us both.  "Won't this be an interesting story?  The Saviour of the wizarding world, hooking up with a dirty faggot of a Death Eater."  Terry's voice is laced with malice.  "This picture will bring in quite a few galleons, I'm sure.  Didn't know you liked arse, Potter.  Although Malfoy's is pretty sweet."

Everyone seems to be shouting at once.  I rip my hand away from Potter, and sprint to the door, apparating as soon as I set foot outside.  I can only hope that Potter and his cronies are able to somehow ruin Terry's photo.

I forget to take my Dreamless Sleep potion, which is a major mistake.  I'm sure you can guess what memories plague my nightmares tonight.  

Two owls arrive the next morning, almost simultaneously.  The first delivers the Daily Prophet.  On the front page is a picture of me and Potter, blinking stupidly and covering our faces.  Our linked hands are easy to see.  The headline reads, _The Boy Who Lived Comes Out of the Closet (Literally) with Death Eater Lover._ I don't bother to read the article.

The second owl I recognize, and it fills me with dread.  It's from Malfoy Manor, which can only mean one thing.  My presence is being requested (demanded) by my parents.

 

_Draco,_

_Make yourself presentable and report to the Manor at once._

 

Father didn't even bother to sign it.  He is sure I will know who it's from, and will obey the command.

* * *

Lucky me, I'm in the paper again, for the second time this week.  This time, it's damage control, and all orchestrated by my parents.

 

_Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy_

_along with_

_Jerome and Rhea Greengrass_

_are delighted to announce the engagement of their children_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy to Astoria Jade Greengrass_

_The wedding will be planned for summer 2000_

 

Here's  what I learned while visiting my parents.  I will marry a pureblood witch.  I will produce a new male heir to carry on the Malfoy bloodline.   And I will not fraternize with Harry Potter.

Oh, I also learned that pureblood wizards can't be gay.  Actually, I already knew that. My father has instilled that fact into me from a very young age.  Apparently if you are a Death Eater, sticking your prick up a young boy's arse doesn't count.  That's just taking advantage of a golden opportunity.  But being caught on film holding hands with Harry Potter?  That's a crime worthy of physical punishment.  It's not the first time my father has ever hit me, but it certainly is the hardest. He usually prefers to use verbal humiliation and degradation, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Back in the sanctuary of my own loft, I have an epiphany.  I am an adult.  My father has no legal rights over me anymore.  I vow, right then and there, that no one will lay an unwanted hand on me ever again.  This will be the last time I feel my Father's hand striking my flesh.

Owls carrying congratulatory letters are coming in fast and furious.  Who knew I was so popular?  I guess finding a respectable pureblood fiancée was just the thing I needed to reopen my social circles.

I don't reply to any of them.  It's all fake.  The engagement, the congratulations, the offers of renewed friendship.  Nothing is real.

Potter's note doesn't arrive with the rest of the post.  His owl shows up quite late at night, when I have already partaken in far to many drinks and am quite firmly in my cups.

 

_Draco,_

_Congratulations of your engagement.  I wish you and your bride-to-be many happy years together._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter_

 

Is he bloody kidding me?  I may be pissed, but I still manage to compose a witty retort.

 

_Potter,_

_What the actual fuck?  Since when do we write formal, poncey notes to each other?_

_If you think this marriage can make me happy, you obviously don't know me as well as I thought you did._

_DM_

 

Potter's reply shows up the next morning with the rest of the post.  It's scribbled on the back of my note, which I now get to relive while sober.  I feel like a complete tosser.  Did I really just imply to Harry Potter that marrying a woman would make me unhappy?

 

_Malfoy,_

_meet me tonight.  10:00 pm.  Bring your broom._

_HP_

 

Below his initials are apparition coordinates.  For a moment, I pretend to contemplate whether I will go or not.  Who am I kidding?  Of course I will go.  There was never any doubt.

* * *

When I arrive, only ten minutes fashionably late this time, Potter is already there.  He sits astride his broom, hovering close to the ground, toes barely skimming the earth.  He doesn't smile, or offer any other greeting.  How impolite.  He invited me here, yet he seems to be waiting for me to make the first move.

I swing a leg over my broom and launch up into the sky, calling, "catch me if you can, Potter," back over my shoulder.  After a moment's hesitation, he takes flight, hot at my heels and gaining ground fast.  It's been a while since I have flown.  When I was a child, flying used to bring me great joy.  Once I was at Hogwarts, it was a means to an end.  I had to be the best Quidditch player, Father would accept nothing less.  I think we all know how that turned out.  The joy was sucked right out of flying for me after that.

I hear Potter laughing right behind me.  "Gotcha," he says happily, and he reaches out and taps my knee.  "Now you catch me."  He takes off in a blur of black robes.

Potter really is a magnificent flyer for his age and training.  He feints and dekes like he has no fear, and maybe he doesn't.  It always did seem to come naturally to him.

I catch myself ogling Potter's arse on his broom.  It is tight and firm and positively deletable.  But I quickly chase that thought away.  Because I'm not gay.  I've had sex with a girl before, back in Hogwarts, before my self discovery with Terry Boot.  And now I'm engaged to be married to a woman.  Of course I'm not gay.  Just ask Father, he'll confirm it.

Potter seems to pick up on my lack of concentration.  He comes to a graceful stop, floating about ten feet of the ground.  I fly over to join him.  My stomach is a bundle of nerves, but I don't let it show on my face.  "This was a good idea, Potter," I say grudgingly.  "I'm actually having fun."

"Good," he replies.  "That was kind of the point."  His face grows somber when he asks, "you've been well?"

I roll my eyes in exaggerated annoyance.  "Are you ever going to stop asking me that?  I'm fine, Potter."

"Ok, ok," he says defensively.  "It's just...if what happened to you had happened to me, I wouldn't be.  Er, fine, that is."

"Yah, well," I say ambiguously.  "It's not like you didn't go through worse things."

"No, Draco, I don't think I did."  Something inside of me cracks at his admission. Harry Potter, who has witnessed untold and countless vile acts during the war, thinks I have it worse than him.  I turn my face away, and let a few more feet of space come between us.  "Why didn't you tell your parents?  They would have helped you."

The words stick in my throat.  "They knew," I whisper.  I'm not sure if Potter hears me, since I've got my back turned to him.  I face him again, and repeat, "they knew."

"But, they couldn't have known," Potter sputters.  "They love you!  They wouldn't have let that happen.  Right?"

Poor Potter.  "Sure, they love me.  My father loves me.  He just doesn't like me."  I grip my broom so tightly, my knuckles turn white.  "Lucius Malfoy, the perfect Slytherin prince.  Prefect, member of the Slug Club.  He was very popular back in his Hogwart's days.  Everything he did was done with nobility and grace.  Needless to say, I've always been a bit of a disappointment."  Potter looks like he wants to say something, but I rush on before he can.  "The only thing he's ever been proud of is my service to the Dark Lord.  And don't kid yourself, he knew exactly what that included."  I heave in an unsteady breath.  "My mother, she loves me too.  But she's always been under my father's thumb.  Sometimes she grows a backbone, and fights for what she wants.  She refused to let Father send me to Durmstrang.  She asked Snape to make an Unbreakable Vow to keep me safe.  And she lied to the Dark Lord to about your death, just to find out if I was still alive.  Despite these small shows of bravery, she's a coward at heart, and goes along with most of what Father says.  Plus, if it wasn't me getting fucked, it very easily could have been her.  I would never have allowed that.  It's why I never ran away, even after I knew I didn't agree with what the Dark Lord was preaching." 

What comes out of Potter's mouth next is totally unpredictable.  "You would have made a great Gryffindor, Malfoy," Potter says with awe.  "You are incredibly brave."

"I'm a coward," I admit.  "I was raised by cowards, and I turned out to be one, too."

"Maybe," Potter allows.  "I have seen you do some pretty cowardly things.  But no one is perfect.  And to protect your mother like that?  To knowingly chose that fate?  That's one of the bravest things I have ever heard."

"Sometimes I envied you," I say.  "Your childhood must have been amazing.  Everyone loves The Boy Who Lived."

Potter stares at me for a second before laughing uproariously.  "Are you taking the piss Malfoy?  I was raised by my muggle aunt and uncle, who hated the very sight of me.  I didn't even know anything about magic until Hagrid tracked me down and explained everything.  I thought my parents died in a car crash."

"What?" I say dumbly.  "But, you're Harry Potter!"

"They didn't give a whit about that.  My childhood was shite.  Those people aren't my family.  Why do you think I stayed at Hogwarts for every holiday I could?"

I am an utter prat.  All this time, I pictured Potter having the ideal upbringing.  Basically, I've imagined him being spoiled rotten and treated like royalty.  Which is how most people assume I was raised.  "So when I used to mock your parents...," I say, and let the question tail off at the end.  I'm almost too scared of the answer.

"Yah, that really stung," Potter murmurs.  "I didn't know anything about my parents.  My aunt and uncle refused to talk about them, except to tell me how weird and inferior they were."  There is a slight pause before he continues.  "Do you know what I hear when the Dementors get close?  My mother, dying.  I hear her being murdered by Voldemort."

A very unwanted memory surges inside my brain.  I'm dressed up as a Dementor, trying to get one up on Harry Potter.  The overwhelming urge to vomit overtakes me, and I fly quickly to the ground, landing on my hands and knees and bringing up the contents of my stomach.  Potter lands lightly behind me.  "Are you-"

"I swear to Merlin, if you ask me one more time if I'm ok, I'm going to hex your bollocks off," I interrupt.  What is wrong with him?  "How can you stand to be around me, after that?"

"I feel sorry for you, Malfoy."  Great.  Pity.  Just what I need.  "Or at least, I used to.  Your life seemed so great, yet you were so unhappy.  Now I know I was as wrong about you as you were about me."  He chuckles lightly.  "In your last note, you implied that I didn't know you as well as you thought I did.  You were right.  I don't think we know each other very well at all.  We've made a lot of assumptions, but most of them are turning out to be false."

He's right.  Everything I think I know about the Chosen One comes from second hand, dubious sources.  "Maybe we could change that," I say, and feel a thrill of rebellion run through my veins.  Father has forbidden this.  I am not to socialize, even as acquaintances, with Harry Potter.

Potter smiles, and holds out his hand.  I realize I am still on all fours in front of him.  As he helps to pull me to my feet, he replies, "I'd like that."

* * *

Our meetings have to be private.  I can't risk my father finding out.  That means never going to the same place twice, always arriving and leaving separately, and never being seen together in public.  It's a lot to ask, but Potter complies without question.  I can only assume he wants this as much as I do.

As it turns out, he has of lot of meeting place ideas from his time searching for the horcruxes.  I'm thankful that after getting together a few times, he still seems eager to hang out with me.  In the past, my friends have accused me of being difficult to get along with.  So far Potter doesn't appear bothered by my snarkiness or my lofty demands.  In fact, he seems to find them charming.

At our fifth meeting, Potter broaches a more controversial subject.  "So, er...do you like shagging blokes?"

One of the problems with being so pale is how quickly my face reddens when I'm embarrassed.  I feel it flush up now, from my neck all the way to my eyebrows.  How mortifying.

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm gay, Potter?" I drawl lazily.  "May I remind you, I am engaged to an actual female."

"Yah, I know.  It's just...you told me that you had shagged Terry Boot, back at Hogwarts?  It kind of sounded like you guys were boyfriends."  Potter's face is just as red as mine feels.  "Was that just an experiment, or are you attracted to guys as well as girls?"

For some reason, Potter brings out my truthful side.  "We were boyfriends.  I really liked him."

"What happened?"

"Oh, you know, just a regular teenaged heartbreak story.  Boy meets boy.  They start dating, possibly fall in love.  Then one boy decides to ally himself and his friends with an evil nutter from the Ministry.  Fighting ensues.  Ultimatums are given.  And the stupid boy chooses being a hateful prat over true love.  That old tale."  It still hurts, even to this day.  Even in the face of Terry's contempt, and attempted rape.  He was my first love.  He was so angry with me, and I don't blame him.

Potter sees where my mind is going.  "You still didn't deserve what he did to you."

"Maybe," I say, although I don't believe it.

Potter is frowning.  The conversation has taken a rather ugly turn, that's for sure.  In an attempt to save it, I blurt out, "I am attracted to guys."

"I figured," Potter answers, nodding his head.  "So, you like both men and women?  I guess that makes you bisexual?"

He phrases it as a question, but he is clearly not expecting an answer.  He thinks he has me all figured out.  "No, I am attracted to guys.  Only guys."  That should throw him for a loop.

It does.  "What?  But....you're engaged!"

Ahh, sweet, naive little Potter.  He really has no idea.  "My parents set that up.  Did you know that pureblood wizards can't be gay, Potter?"  He shakes his head groggily at me.  "Well, now you do.  I am a pureblood, therefore I can not be gay, therefore I will be happy to marry another pureblood of the female sex."

Potter is thinking so hard I can almost hear it.  "But, then you'll be unhappy for the rest of your life.  Your parents really don't care?"

"They care most about maintaining the Malfoy name and producing the next heir."  I swallow heavily before continuing.  "Anyway, once I have kids of my own, I expect I will be moderately happy.  I've always longed for a big family.  Perhaps Astoria and I can have a whole brood of children, and our house will be filled with pattering feet and tinkling laughter."  I've never told anyone this particular fantasy of mine.  I hope Harry doesn't make fun of it.

"That sounds nice, Malfoy.  But wouldn't it be better to have all that, and share it with someone you love?"  Potter is looking at me earnestly, like he has the answer to all my problems.

"Sure, Potter.  But that's just a dream.  Even if it was possible for two blokes to have children, my father would never accept it.  I'm stuck.  It's my destiny to get married and continue the Malfoy bloodline."

"Bollocks," Harry spits.  "Why are you living to make your father happy?  He's never done anything but make you miserable and cut you down."

"Watch it, Potter," I say in a menacing voice.  "That's my family you are insulting.  You've always hated my father-"

"Aurgh!" Potter interrupts me.  "This has nothing to do with me, or what I think about your father personally.  This is about you!  Over the past few weeks, you've admitted to me that Lucius doesn't like you, that he uses you for personal gain, that he degrades and abuses you.  Why do you care what he thinks, or wants?"

"Because, Potter, he's my father."  I quickly wipe a tear off my face.  "He's my father, and I love him.  I want him to be proud of me.  Just once."

Potter throws his arms around my neck and whispers in my ear.  "Don't you get it, Draco?  You shouldn't have to sacrifice your happiness to make your father proud.  It's never going to be enough for him.  He's always going to want more and more and more from you.  How much are you willing to give?"

I break down then, in Potter's arms.  I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight, letting years of pent up emotion flow out of me.  At first I feel like a giant arse, but as it goes on, it just feels liberating.  Eventually the tears end, and I'm left snuggled in Potter's embrace.  I've practically crawled into his lap.

"Even if I did want what you said, sharing a life with someone who loved me, where would I find that?  I was a Death Eater Potter!  Up until my engagement was announced, you were the only person who had any interest in talking to me.  Who would possibly want to be with me?" I make to pull away from Potter, to gain some personal space, but his grip tightens around me.

"I would," he whispers, looking into my eyes with the most hopeful look I have ever seen.  "At least, I'd like to try."  He leans forward, closing the minute distance between us.  We are so close, I can feel his breath on my cheek, and his nose is brushing softly against mine.  My mind is screaming _kiss me kiss me kiss me._ Maybe he can hear it, because he closes his eyes, and presses his lips to mine so tenderly, I almost start to cry again.  It's just a gentle graze, but the feeling of his mouth on mine alights a fire in me that I haven't felt in years.  I wasn't sure I'd ever feel this way again.  The rush of pleasure from another body, pressing close.  

He runs a hand lightly up my neck, stopping to grip into my hair.  I gasp, and fully expect him to take advantage by pushing his tongue into my mouth.  He doesn't.  He just follows my lips with his, and I realize that he is letting me set the pace, and decide what I can handle.  I whimper in desire.  Not lust-fuelled desire.  The desire for someone who knows me, and cherishes me, and cares about my feelings.  The fire is my belly is becoming an all-consuming blaze, sweeping over the rest of my body.  I find myself clutching desperately at Potter, pulling us closer together and deepening our kiss by flicking my tongue against his.  He moans greedily, like he has been waiting for this moment for a long time.  If I'm honest with myself, I have been too.  I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eleven years old.

Eventually I break away, gasping for air.  Any moment now I expect Potter to backtrack.  To say he got carried away.  To admit that the kiss was nice, but he just can't get himself tangled up with Draco Malfoy, his former enemy and a known Death Eater, who also happens to be fucked up about his family and his past.

Potter watches me closely.  He seems hesitant, like the slightest shift will startle me.  But he's a brave Gryffindor, and reaches out and plucks me up with seemingly little effort, depositing me in his lap.  My back is now flush against his chest, and he leans in to tuck his head onto my shoulder.  "Please say you'll give us a shot," he murmurs, before licking at the pulse point on my neck.

It's too much.  The kiss, the closeness, the intimacy.  I can't accept it, not from him.  How long before he figures out that he is worth ten of me, and leaves me all alone?  He's just asking for a chance, not making an Unbreakable Vow to stay with me forever.

I don't know if I could handle him leaving me.  Suddenly, my loveless marriage seems like the safe alternative.  "I need to leave."  I jump up out of his lap, and stride away.  It's cowardly, I know, but then, I've always admitted to being one.  It shouldn't come as a shock.  Still, I owe him something, so I turn and meet his eyes.  He looks sad, and old beyond his years.  "I'm sorry," I offer, without elaborating.  There are just so many things I am sorry for when it comes to Potter.

"Don't be," he replies.  "It's not your fault that you don't feel that way for me."

A frustrated groan escapes my lips.  "That's not the problem," I grind out.  How could Potter think that?  "I'm just...I need to go.  I'll send you an owl."  Potter looks doubtful.  "I promise," I say, because I can't just leave him like that.  The last thing I see before I apparate away is his nod of resignation.

* * *

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, and I still haven't sent Potter the letter I promised him.  I've composed it hundreds of times in my head, but when I put my quill to the parchment, I am unable to find the proper words.

A few weeks ago, Potter came out to the wizarding community.  The headline of the Daily Prophet read: _Harry Potter Confirms Sexual Orientation Rumours.  It's OK to be Gay._   It will probably go down in history as one of the worst front page titles ever.

It comes as no shock to me when the Malfoy owl shows up with a curt note.

 

_This changes nothing._

 

Father doesn't even bother to properly address the note.  It's just a reminder of what is expected of me, of how my life is not my own.  Wedding plans begin in earnest after that.  As soon as poor Astoria graduates from Hogwarts, she will become Mrs. Draco Malfoy.  I wouldn't be surprised if my parents cut the convocation banquet short, just to have this damn wedding over and done with as soon as possible.

If I'm going to do anything, it has to be soon.  

 

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry I didn't write you earlier.  I have no excuse except the one you already know.  I am a coward._

_I just keep thinking about all the terrible things I have done in the past.  Remember Healer Noseby?  He asked us to think about the worst thing we did during the war.  I can't get those memories out of my head.  And I can't see how someone like you could ever accept someone like me.  I bullied you Harry!  I'm glad we worked out most of our differences since then, but I still doubt that I'm good enough to be your friend, let alone more._

_I've been so scared.  I've let that fear paralyze me, and settle for a half-life.  I want to be happy.  I want it all, Harry.  I'm just not convinced I deserve it._

_But I am willing to try.  I'm ready to give us a shot, like you wanted.  If you are still interested.  I can try to be the brave Gryffindor you see in me._

_Fondly,_

_Draco_

 

_Malfoy,_

_Put your money where your mouth is and PROVE IT!_

_Harry_

_P.S. get over the past, Malfoy.  It's called that for a reason._

 

Prove it?  Prove what?  What exactly does Harry want from me?

Later that week, I receive an invitation in the mail.  It's for the upcoming Ministry of Magic charity event.  Funds raised will go to help children orphaned by the war.  And guess who has signed up to be auctioned off for a date?  You guessed it.  Harry Potter.

The invitation is for Draco Malfoy & Fiancée.  I'll just pretend I didn't notice that.  I know it's Astoria's good name that has invitations such as these showing up at my place.

I prepare for the evening with meticulous attention to detail.  Everything has to be perfect.  Not that Potter will care, but it helps me feel more in control.  I decide to forgo tradition, and choose a bespoke black muggle suit over the more popular dress robes.  It's a visual statement of how much I've changed.  The most important part of the outfit is a scarlet and gold Gryffindor tie I asked Luna to get me.  Merlin only knows where it came from, but she came through for me.

I decide to skip the cocktails, and arrive for the start of the auction.  As luck would have it, I time my arrival perfectly.  There are four other 'celebrities' besides Potter up on the stage being auctioned for charity tonight.  I recognize two professional quidditch players, one of the Weird Sisters, and surprisingly, the Weasel's older dragon-wrangling brother.  He seems to be gathering more attention than the male quidditch player, but I only have eyes for Harry.

Potter is nervous.  He keeps chewing on his bottom lip and nodding vacantly at the Weasel family member standing beside him.  When I see what he is wearing, I'm glad I picked the outfit I did.  Harry is also dressed in muggle clothes.  He has on a pair of fitted, dark denims, which do amazing things for his thighs and arse.  His shirt is a long-sleeved black button-up.  The stark colour of his shirt and hair make his green eyes stand out like emeralds under his glasses.  The look is topped off with a light grey tie.

The bidding gets heated quickly. Everyone gets auctioned for a respectable price, and the celebrities seem pleased with the amount of money they are raising for charity.  Potter's auction has of course been left until last.  I can see people pooling their funds, desperate to win a date with the Chosen One.

The bidding for Harry starts off at 100 Galleons.  There is a lot of wailing and crying as people reach their limit, and are forced to drop out.  Harry is looking particularly skittish.  I know from our time together how much he actually hates his celebrity status, and being in the limelight.

Things start to slow down around the 750 Galleon mark.  That's when I step forward, and lazily drawl, "1000 Galleons."

There is an instant hush in the room, and Harry's head snaps up as his eyes search for me in the crowd.  When he spots me, our eyes lock, and electricity crackles between us.  The moment is charged with energy, and I am lost in it.  Potter's lips begin to curve up in a smile, and I don't think my heart has ever felt so big or beat so fast.

"2000 Galleons," a voice shouts out, breaking the moment.  Potter's face falls.  It is a ridiculous amount of money, and one that I can't possibly match. Not without digging deep into the Malfoy account.  I'm pretty sure Father wouldn't approve that purchase.

It seems like it is all over, until the auctioneer says, "wait, I think there is one more bid.  Yes, you in the back, Miss.  What is your bid?"

"2500 Galleons, please," an ethereal voice proclaims.  Someone in attendance is seriously wealthy, or they just really want a date with Harry Potter.

Harry's buyer steps forward, and it's Luna Lovegood.  She turns to me, and gestures towards Harry, saying "go get him."  She is humming under her breath as she signs the payment contract, and when she is finished, she walks away without a second glance back.

I turn back towards Harry, who is the only one left standing on the stage. Everyone in the room is staring at him, wondering what will happen.

It's time to seize my chance.  I stride forward with my best swagger, until I reach the edge of the stage.  I grab onto Potter's tie, and yank on it firmly.  He gets the hint, and hops down in front of me.

"Nice tie, Potter," I say, as I wind the article of clothing in question around my finger.  I'm suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious.  But I'm a Malfoy, so no one here is going to see me falter.

"I could say the same to you," he replies, eyeing my Gryffindor tie.  "Does it mean anything in particular?"

"Oh, just a symbol of my affection, for someone special," I answer loftily.  "Yours?"

"Mine?  It is the exact colour of someone's eyes.  Someone that I have been missing these last few months."

My throat is suddenly dry, and I take a gulping swallow in an attempt to rectify the situtation. Potter tracks the movement of my Adam's apple, and takes a deep swallow of his own.  We must look ridiculous; standing there toe to toe, hands wound in each other's ties, staring hungrily at each other.   This is it, the instant in which I either PROVE IT to Potter, or I fail miserably.

Malfoys don't fail.  Well, ok, actually we do.  But I'm starting a new tradition.  This Malfoy is going to be brave, and strong.  I am going to try my best, and if I do fail, I'll know I didn't go down without a fight.

I pull on Potter's tie once more, bringing us nose to nose.  The brushing of our noses is so deliciously reminiscent of our first kiss, my heart is overwhelmed with emotion.  This time, it's not tentative and tender.  This kiss has months of pent-up longing and frustration fuelling it.  Our lips crash and twist together in a frenzy of lust.  The popping and clicking of cameras finally brings me to my senses, reminding me that Potter and I are in a very public place.  And while I want to put on a good enough show to PROVE IT to him, I don't want the entire Ministry to witness anymore of this than necessary. Because Potter is mine.

"Blimey, Malfoy," Potter pants out.  We both need a little time to catch our breath.

When I do, I say, "care to continue this date somewhere a little more private?"  Harry is nodding his head before I even finish the question.  Cameras continue to snap photos of us as we leave the banquet hall.  I can't even begin to imagine what tomorrow's headline will be.

I let Harry apparate us to his house.  I'll take a perverted house elf over my furious father any day.  And make no mistake, Lucius Malfoy will be out for blood when he see me snogging Harry Potter on the front page of every wizarding paper and magazine tomorrow.  That's if word doesn't reach him tonight.

Harry is an accomplished wizard, who is able to apparate us right into his bedroom.  I falter a bit as I take in Potter's bed.  Things are progressing rather quickly.  I haven't had consensual sex in over three years, and I'm more that a little anxious about that fact.  What if I freeze up?  What if I can't do it anymore, and never can?  Will Harry still want me?

"Draco, calm down.  Your heart is racing."  He brings a hand up to my chest, settling it right over my heart. His sweet smile reassures me somewhat.  "We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with.  We don't have to do anything at all!  I'm more than happy to have a nice conversation over a relaxing cup of tea."

Merlin, but this man is perfect.  "Kiss me," I demand.  He proves himself good at taking orders.  Potter grasps my face with both his hands, cradling it like I'm something precious.  His mouth finds mine, and we both part our lips, exploring each other with our tongues.  I feel woefully under-qualified to be kissing the Saviour of the wizarding world.  He's probably drowning in experience, and all I've had were a few stolen moments before the war.

The intimate way in which Harry is caressing my face soon makes me forget all that.  "Take off my shirt."  I've already placed my suit jacket on the chair in the corner.  I reach up to remove my tie to help him in my request, and Harry grips one hand firmly in his own.

"You're shaking," he states.  "Maybe we should slow down."

It's true, I am shaking. And I am a little on edge.  But I'm also desperate to go further with Harry.  "No, I'm fine.  I want this," I assure him.

Harry nods, and helps me remove my tie.  His hands then slip to the waistband of my suit trousers, and untuck my shirt.  Slowly, carefully, he works open the buttons.  Once he opens the cuffs, he gently pushes the shirt off my shoulders, and lets it fall to the floor.  This is it, the moment of truth.  Will what Harry sees send him running for the hills?

He is quiet and contiplative as he studies the Dark Mark branding my left inner forearm.  Another reminder of how different we are, and how different we were, during the war.

_Remember the worst thing that happened to you during the war._

The thought pops up out of nowhere, but it is enough to knock the wind out of me.  I take a large step back, putting some distance between Harry and myself.  Potter seems to think he's the one to blame.  He's struggling to think of something to say.  Everything is going sideways quickly now.  My relationship with Potter will be over before it even really got started.

"Draco," Harry says plaintively.  I look directly into his eyes.  Whatever he has to say, I will meet it head on.  "Draco, you are beautiful."

A sound between a whimper and a whine leaves my mouth.  I launch myself at Potter, pushing him backwards towards the bed until his knees hit and he falls to the mattress with an "umph."  I waste no time clambering on top of him, pressing seering kisses onto his forehead, down his temple and into his neck.  My hands scramble to remove his tie and get his dress shirt off.

When I've finally got Harry bare-chested, I run out of steam.  I can feel the hard press of his cock straining against his trousers and jutting into my thigh.  I'm at a loss for what to do now.

Thankfully, Harry seems able to read me like a book.  He sits up, and gently changes our positions, so that I am lying back on the bed, and he sitting between my legs.  "Let me take care of you," he says.  "Trust me."

I do trust him.  So I smile my most genuine smile, and he stops dead.  "You should smile more often Malfoy.  That's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."  My heart sings with joy.  Harry Potter just called me beautiful twice within the last five minutes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much.  Promise me."  I promise, and he slowly leans down, hovering over me while kissing me thoroughly.  Soon I'm breathless and panting into his mouth.  He takes that as a signal to move his lips down my body.  His mouth stops at my neck, my chest, my nipples, teasing and kissing until I'm practically writhing beneath him on the bed.  When he gets to the Dark Mark, and plants a chaste peck on the brand, I know that I am hopelessly and completely in love. 

His lips move to just above the waistband of my trousers, and he mouths at the skin there.  Goosebumps raise on my flesh, and blood rushes straight to my groin, causing my cock to swell.  Potter undoes my trousers and grips my waistband, but he doesn't pull them down.  I realize that he is waiting for my consent, and that simple gesture means more to me than anything that has happened so far tonight.  I nod yes, and my trousers and pants are pulled down in one gentle motion.  Harry takes the time to get them down my ankles and over my feet, leaving me properly naked.

I've never been this on display before.  Besides my parents, I don't think anyone else has seen me naked.  In my rushed couplings at Hogwarts, there was never time for leisurely foreplay.  The Death Eaters were only after one thing, and once they had access to it, they didn't care what covered the rest of my body.  With Harry, it was different.  It felt special.

He gives my prick a couple of quick tugs while assessing my face.  I can tell he's worried that I'm overwhelmed.  I flash him another smile as encouragement.  He smiles back, and shifts himself so that his face is right over my cock.  Without warning, his tongue is licking the head, and Merlin, I have never felt anything so good.  No one has ever done this for me.  I can't hold back my groan, "Harry."  He closes his mouth over my length and hums.  I am falling apart in Potter's hands, and I don't even care.  He is licking and sucking and bobbing his head, and I'm not going to last much longer.  His hand grips the base of my cock, and he begins pumping it in time with what his mouth is doing.  Without warning, I arch my back and come in Harry's throat.  He's taken be surprise, and most of it dribbles out of his mouth.  He continues to milk me with his hand, until I'm utterly spent.  I gaze over at Harry, his face and chin and hand covered in my come, and I have never seen anything so gorgeous in my entire life.

Harry is palming himself frantically.  I watch in awe for a few seconds, before I bat his hand away and start to undo his trousers.  "Don't worry about me," he says.  "I promised to take care of you."

"I know, and you did.  Now I want to return the favour." I slip my hand into Potter's pants.  His erection is hot and straining against my fingers.  I push his trousers and pants down a little, so I can get a better grip.  I don't know what Potter likes yet, but for now, I'll treat him to my favourite wanking style.  I start slow, stretching his foreskin over the head of his prick.  When precome begins to leak more generously out of the tip, I use a thumb to smear it around, and pick up the pace.  As things progress, I add a twist of my wrist on every upstroke.  Harry is thrusting wantonly into my fist.  With my free hand, I gently fondle his balls, and feel as they tighten up and draw closer to his body.  He goes rigid, and lets out a gasped moan, coming all over my hand and his own chest.  I don't even care about the mess.  I just lie down snuggled up to Potter's side.  The arm I drape over top of him slips in the come, but it doesn't matter, as long as I can hold Harry close.

He turns to me and presses a kiss to the middle of my forehead.  "Thank you for trusting me."  We fall asleep still sticky and sweaty, and I can honestly not remember ever being so happy.

* * *

**Epilogue: 5 years later**

 

Memories still consume me, but they are of a different variety these days.

Right now I'm in St Mungo's, watching my second son be born.  Scorpius Potter-Malfoy.  I may be rushing things a little bit, but I feel fairly confident in saying that at four minutes of age, he looks just like me.

The twins, James and Lily, came first, just over two years ago.  They are the spitting image of their dad, all floppy raven hair and bright green eyes.  My heart clenches every time I look at them.  My little miracles.

Sometimes I worry that I've been given this life by mistake.  One day, someone might wise up and say, "Draco Potter-Malfoy doesn't deserve such happiness."  I live everyday as well as I can, just in case.

It hasn't been a total picnic.  My father nearly kidnapped me to keep me away from Harry, and force me into a pureblood marriage with Astoria.  Thankfully, I wasn't what she wanted either.  She was in love with a young gentleman in her year at Hogwarts.  A very nice muggleborn by the name of Joel Oddington.  We get together at the park sometimes to let our children play.

Three years ago, Luna approached us with an offer to carry our babies, if we would do her the honour.  The rest, as they say, is history.

Mother and Father haven't even met my children.  Since the twins are not of Malfoy blood, I guess they have no desire to.  

Now that Harry and I have a little boy who I fathered, I wonder if my parents will show more of an interest.  I hope not.  Scorpius doesn't need to be exposed to that atmosphere.

As you can probably guess, my memories are now filled with first steps and first words and numerous magical nights of singing lullabies and reading bedtime stories.  And Harry.  Harry fills my memories like no one else can.

That's not to say I don't still have the odd flashback.  Harry and I both do.  It's just a by-product of having survived a brutal war.  And I won't tell you that love cured me, because that would be trite and condescending.

But the truth is, love did help me heal.

I am still healing, everyday, and I will be for the rest of my life.  The one thing I am sure of is the love I have for my family, and them for me.  I wish it had been that way for me, when I was a child.  But we can't change the past, we can only make better choices and create a brighter future.

The Potter-Malfoy kids will never doubt in the love of their fathers.

One memory I hold onto dearly is when I told Harry about my desire to have a large family. It seemed like a fantasy back them.  He assured me that I could have that dream, and true love as well.  I didn't believe him at the time

Well here I am, Draco Potter-Malfoy, Slytherin and former Death Eater, living the life I always dreamed of.

**The end**


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